


The Strangest Feeling

by Mareike



Category: Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: F/M, Final Fantasy VIII - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-26
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-14 22:59:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2206239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mareike/pseuds/Mareike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of stories written for the fated_children LJ community theme challenge revolving around Seifer Almasy and Quistis Trepe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Strangest Feeling

**Author's Note:**

> The [fated_children](http://fated_children.livejournal.com) LJ community had a 100-theme fic challenge, which I took on from 2006 to 2007. Between my senior year in uni and my acceptance into my first job, I was able to write several stories but ultimately failed to finish the challenge. Seven years later, I'm trying to rectify that.
> 
> This collection will contain: 1) old stories in either their original or revised form, and 2) new entries. None of the latter would be submissions to fated_children anymore, though, as the community no longer appears to be active. So, this is just going to be a personal project to see the 100 themes through. (Oh, Hyne. Give me strength.) 
> 
> _Final Fantasy VIII_ is a property of Squaresoft/Square Enix. Standard disclaimer applies.

**Theme + Number:** #40 - Bitter, #72 - Bad days  
 **Original Publication Date: February 12, 2007**  
 **Warnings:** Mild swearing.  
 **Summary:** He doesn't care. At all.

 

Seifer hated the way Trepe looked at _him_.

He hated the way her cold blue eyes would turn... _soft_ whenever her gaze falls upon the boy who sat just across his desk, whereas the best he ever got from her was a demeaning stare. Today was no exception.

Sitting in his usual corner at the back of the classroom, Seifer tried to quell the frustration that was building up inside him. His forehead throbbed, the stitched cut between his eyes stung, and yet, for his injury he never got a word of sympathy from her. "...never injure your training partner," was all she said. 

Well, he didn't need her sympathy, anyway. Leonhart could have all of it for all he cared. She could dote over the boy like he was some precious china, and he wouldn’t give a damn. He didn’t care. He stopped caring a long time ago.

Four hours have passed since his and Leonhart’s mishap in the training grounds, and seconds continued to tick past while he sat in her class as she went on about this magic and that. The lecture was nothing but a jumbled mess inside his head, however. His attention was elsewhere: on the back of Leonhart's head and the burning desire to throw a boot at it. He felt the wound throb again and he fought the urge to bang his fist on the desk. The injury itself wasn’t so bad, really, and the blood no longer trickled down the bridge of his nose… 

It still hurt, though, the pang in his chest. 


End file.
